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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059026">Four Times Eames Got Arthur's Love Language Wrong… And One Time He Got it Right</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyHoldMyFlower/pseuds/BabyHoldMyFlower'>BabyHoldMyFlower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Cold, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Cute, Drugs, Feel-good, Fluff, Love Languages, M/M, and it's not really that bad, original characters barely show up, rated for language, still good though!, submission for arthureamesmonth, this is all very PG</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:06:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyHoldMyFlower/pseuds/BabyHoldMyFlower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why am I doing this? What do you mean why am I doing this? Isn’t it obvious that I’m wooing you?”</p><p>“Wooing me.”</p><p>Eames swept his arms in an all encompassing gesture to the warehouse around them, as if asking it to bear witness, “Like the fair maiden you are!”</p><p>“Good fucking lord.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Four Times Eames Got Arthur's Love Language Wrong… And One Time He Got it Right</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Day 1: Receiving Gifts</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you love me,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur was frozen bent over his desk, fingers still on the keyboard, “Mr. Eames, what exactly about this situation is supposed to endear you to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought you waffles! You’re American, you love waffles!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur spun around in his chair to focus fully on the other man for the first time in their conversation. “Let’s run through the day’s events, shall we? I wake up, I shower,” at this Eames smirked lecherously, “I get a large, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span> cup of coffee, I come into work, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you spill</span>
  </em>
  <span> that hot coffee all over me, you grope me while pretending to help me dry off, I work for five hours straight, and now you’ve brought me waffles. Waffles which are currently dripping syrup onto my paperwork.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s your fault for having paperwork in the first place, pet! I’m just conditioning you to give it up,” He leaned against the desk casually, sending even more paperwork drifting to the floor. “To save the trees, as it were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did it not occur to you to bring me another cup of coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames lit up, Arthur was frustrated to see, like he was somehow taking Arthur’s rebuke as encouragement, “Well I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thank you for the tip! I’ll go and fetch you a cup of coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur screwed his face up briefly in some combination of confusion and disgust, eyes squinted and lips slightly curled, and snagged Eames by the hem of his pastel monstrosity of a shirt. “What, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, get back here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames stopped promptly at the tug and grinned, “Well if you insist darling, I could never refuse you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, why would you do that? I don’t need coffee,” this was a lie, he always needed coffee, “I need you to do your job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I doing this? What do you mean why am I doing this? Isn’t it obvious that I’m wooing you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooing me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames swept his arms in an all encompassing gesture to the warehouse around them, as if asking it to bear witness, “Like the fair maiden you are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good fucking lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes I am rather good, aren't I, but I beg you not to take my name in vain,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur spun back around to his work, decisively plunking the waffles on the floor—not in the trash, Eames took note, “Go back to your desk, Mr. Eames.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames stuffed his hands in his pockets and started backing away slowly, “Alright, alright. So your love language isn’t gifts. I’ll try again tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur glanced over his shoulder, startled and genuinely perplexed, “What? You know what, nevermind. Not important. Aren’t you scheduled to paint Ms. Chapman’s nails in 45 minutes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames checked his watch, “Ah, yes, look at the time,” and that was that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Day 2: Words of Affirmation </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain was coming down fast and hard and, unfortunately, sideways. Everyone in the warehouse, which was a gloomy and unfortunate affair already, was dripping wet and unhappy, trying to hear themselves think over the loud echo of the rain on a tin roof. It was on this unfortunate scene that Eames burst in, dressed in the most obnoxious of suits and yelling to be heard over the rain. “God is really pissing on us today, isn’t he? Arthur, darling, how do you cope?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur continued to shuffle through a file, “You’re late.” The effect of his unhappiness was diminished considerably by the fact that he had to yell as well, but he was trying not to think about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only a tad!” Eames dropped his coat on the floor and walked to Arthur's desk. “I bet you’re never late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur glanced up briefly, “No. I’m not. And if you ever came in at a reasonable time you would know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames grinned down at him boyishly, “Wow. You are so good at your job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur glanced up and back down again, but quickly focused his full attention on Eames when he realized he was missing something, “Yes,” responded slowly, “I really am.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “I’m sorry, are you fishing for compliments? Because I thought we had established this. Yes, you’re an excellent forger, I’m an excellent point man, Janie is—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! You’ve got it all wrong, love. I’m just trying to give you a compliment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A compliment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames bent over the desk until he could rest his head in his hands, putting him at eye level with Arthur. “Yes. A compliment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur paused, “Yeah, alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames closed Arthur’s laptop and attempted to close his file before Arthur yanked it back. “Darling. Arthur. Darling Arthur. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a god in those suits of yours? Or that the fact that you could kill a man without breaking a sweat is like something from a wet dream? Or that your ruthless competency gives me butterflies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in those exact words, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames pulled back dramatically, throwing a hand over his heart and gasping, “A tragedy! I’ll just have to make up for these years of neglect, won't I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames, you’ve already wasted enough of the day already. I think that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, this is happening—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that everyone would appreciate it more if you actually did what you were being paid for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames put in an effort to look very hurt and offended, “But don’t you enjoy being showered with praise? Everyone enjoys compliments. For example, your arse looks impeccable today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been sitting down this entire time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m sure that it does, if it’s track record has anything to say for itself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Eames.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, okay, giving up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Day 2, Evening: Quality Time</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rain had ended sometime around four o’clock, but the clouds never cleared. Everyone had left at five—they didn’t have nine to five jobs, but everyone seemed to agree that it was a reasonable time to give up for the day. Everyone except for Arthur, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was the only one left in the warehouse at nearly seven. He always put in the most work at the beginning of a job, when everyone needed the information to get going and make a plan. After that most of his time was dedicated to working on the dreamscape, and sometimes not even that if someone else could do it better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only looked up at last when he heard the click and resounding slam of the door. Eames’ footsteps echoed in the empty space as he walked to his desk and sat down, pulling a battered paperback out of his coat and opening it to the first page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s voice felt too loud when he spoke, “What are you doing back here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames looked up with a smile. “Keeping you company through these long, grueling nights, of course. You know, you really work too hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur scoffed, “You don’t work hard enough.” He didn’t believe that, he and Eames actually worked together spectacularly well when they got the chance, but he wasn’t quite sure what their relationship would look like if he wasn’t disapproving. He finally caught up to what Eames had said, “You’re keeping me company?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, do try to keep up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because otherwise you’d be sitting in this miserable place by yourself, and we can’t have that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur paused in real confusion, “But… it’s my job. I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But wouldn’t it be better with someone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t have to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please. What else would I do? Go to a club? Pick up a flexible young person to fuck into the matress for everyone to hear? Watch even more Star Trek on television?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Any of those things!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what flexible young person in this city could ever compare to the flexible young person sitting in front of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shook his head in exasperation, “Whatever. Do what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes of very unproductive attempts to focus later, Arthur finally gave in. “So, what are you reading?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames held up a finger, then dog-eared the page and closed the book. “I’m so glad you asked! It’s called </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Hot Virginia Sun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s turning out to be an excellent read, and, just between the two of us, the reviews promise that the Virginia sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this is really entertaining for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One word: cowboys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur snorted, “You’re a middle aged mother of three.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames shrugged, “What can I say, middle aged mothers have great taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but really, this can’t be fun for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Arthur. I chose to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I can’t focus knowing you’re sitting there reading a shitty harlequin because I won’t leave!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not because you won’t leave, darling—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. If I left you wouldn’t stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well no, the main attraction would be gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not being interesting! I can’t entertain you like this! I’m just working!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, at ease. This was clearly a bad idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur groaned, “And now you’re leaving. You put in the time to come here to keep me company, which still makes no sense, by the way, and now I’ve kicked you out. You know what, I’ll be done too. We can head back to the hotel, maybe get takeout for dinner. I’ll come in early tomorrow, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames hurried over and pushed Arthur back down in his chair by his shoulders, “While I will always jump at the chance of dinner and a stroll with you, the entire thing is rather ruined if I’ve guilted you into it. So I’ll go—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go, and you finish up your night’s work.” Eames gave Arthur’s shoulders one last firm press and attempted to make a hasty exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur. It’s fine, it’s really fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Arthur!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Day 3: Physical Touch</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Jesus, ow, ow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s me, let me up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur got up from the sidewalk where he had Eames pinned, helping him scramble to his feet as people filtered around them. “What the hell possessed you to sneak up on a trained killer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll admit I didn’t quite think this through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then you grabbed me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a companionable touch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was dangerous!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames looked up hopefully from where he was brushing gravel off of his palms, “Well, can I put my arm around you now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me, no!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how we got from this rather violent encounter to fucking, but alright. Can I assume you like it rough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can assume nothing,” Arthur admonished with a sharp backhanded slap to his shoulder. Eames sucked a hissing breath in through his teeth. “Ah. Yes, sorry about the shoulder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames shot him a pained smile, “Yes well, I rather deserve it, don’t I? Not my smartest idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur fought back a smile, “Come on. There’s ice at the hotel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why Arthur! Is this finally a—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t even think about it. Ice. And keep yourself to yourself this time, Mr. Eames.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Day 4: Acts of Service</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, love, we’re getting out of here.” Eames hoisted Arthur up by his armpits, hastily draping one of Arthur’s arms around his broad shoulders to keep him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s head rolled on his shoulders, “What? Wait—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve had a nasty reaction to the somnacin, darling, but everything will be okay.” Eames shot a murderous glance at Jason, their chemist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shook his head drunkenly, “Nooo, I’m not aler— allergenic—” he screwed up his face in concentration, “all-er-gic… to anything.” His head rolled onto Eames shoulder, “Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames chuckled and gazed down at Arthur’s scowling face, “I believe you, my darling Arthur, but let’s head back to the hotel just in case, yeah? Have a nice nap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur flung his head back, causing Eames to jerk his back in response in protection of his nose, “Ha! Yooouuu— you’re trying to sleep with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Janie giggled, then did her best to turn it into a cough and looked away. Eames looked torn between giggling himself and defending Arthur’s dignity. “Not this time,” he grinned and parroted Arthur’s worlds back to him, nudging his face a little closer to Arthur’s teasingly, “Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur squinted suspiciously, leaning his head away from Eames’ face in an effort to assess him from afar—unsuccessfully, his arm was still wrapped around his shoulders. “Hmmm. Fine.” He looked down, puzzled, at their bodies pressed together, then brought his unoccupied hand up to squeeze Eames’ bicep, “Wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Janie let loose a short shriek of laughter, earning herself another glare, “O-kay, I think it’s time to go.” Eames turned his squint back to Janie and spoke in a low voice, “You know, for a criminal you have horrific self control. Can I trust your discretion is a little more operational?” He raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going for threatening, but Arthur ruined it by giggling and smoothing his fingertip clumsily along Eames’ raised eyebrow, “Oooh. Scary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames glared good naturedly at Arthur, who was snickering into his shoulder, “You are not helping your case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fiiine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, leaving now,” Eames dragged Arthur’s stumbling figure towards the exit, “Don’t make me carry you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur gasped in horror, his voice fading as he was hauled further from the listening ears of the team,“Nooo! That’s indig— undignified. I am a </span>
  <em>
    <span>gentleman</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Arthur was tired, exhausted really, but that was quickly being replaced by a jittery sickness as the drugs worked their way out of his system. Arthur groaned when they finally made it to Eames’ room (he wasn’t nearly lucid enough when they left to have taken his own key card with him). He slumped into Eames’ side, clinging embarrassingly, too shivery from the detox to care about his reputation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you be okay, darling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur expelled the air from his lungs in one long breath, “No. Never again.” He stumbled toward the bed to the best of his ability, dragging Eames along as his crutch. “It’s fucking freezing in here,” he chattered, “Why are hotel rooms always so cold?” He reached the bed and climbed in clumsily, shaking too badly to pull back the covers without Eames’ quick assist. He tucked himself into a ball under the sheets, pulling the duvet over his head. His voice came muffled from beneath the layers of fabric, “Turn the heat up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames’ voice was softer than he normally allowed, “Alright.” Arthur heard the beeping of the thermostat being turned up several degrees, but continued to shiver violently. “Well, if that’s all, perhaps you would prefer—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me beg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames stared at the quivering pile of blankets, face uncomprehending, until Arthur pulled the layers down over his head enough to glare out at him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eames</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes widened at what he realized he was being asked, “I— yes, alright.” He took several halting stops towards the bed but stopped just short. “Um. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about just— it’s just that, enthusiastic consent, you understand? And”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames. This isn’t sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, even so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Christ, just climb under.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames lurched forward, as if Arthur’s words had cut his strings, and lay down under the covers. He hovered across from Arthur for several seconds before releasing a long, slow breath and reaching out to touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur stared at him with wide eyes as he slowly swept one broad palm down Arthur’s shaking arm. He repeated the motion several times, focused intently on the path he retraced, before finally letting his fingers curl over Arthur’s shoulder and drag heavily down to the small of his back. With one final scrap of courage he pulled his body into Arthur’s front, Arthur’s body uncurling under the warm press of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur let his arms unclench and move around Eames’ sides, under his arms and tight around his back. He clutched Eames close, twining their legs together, his body shuddering at the heavenly warmth sinking into his starved skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames relaxed unto the embrace, carding his fingers through Arthur’s gelled hair and resting against his neck. “Better?” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nodded against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to be sick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur laughed painfully before whispering back, ‘Probably. Eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” They laid in silence, listening to their own breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eames?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur paused, “I might. One day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames smiled into the crown of Arthur’s head, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “I would like that.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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